


Unsaid Words, Not Unheard

by endlessnepenthe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Castiel Takes Care of Dean Winchester, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sick Dean Winchester, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25733605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnepenthe/pseuds/endlessnepenthe
Summary: Castiel decides to remain patient, and wait for Dean to let go.Dean doesn’t.Castiel continues waiting. Dean continues holding Castiel’s wrist hostage.“Dean…”“What.”Castiel slowly pokes his tongue out to wet his lips. “I’m going to be late for work.”(In which, Dean is sick but insists on getting Castiel to go to work.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 130





	Unsaid Words, Not Unheard

“Said I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t even  _ stand, _ Dean!”

“Justa headache,” Dean mutters, throwing an arm over his eyes. He doesn’t turn away, but the subtle tilt of his head is unmistakable.

Castiel immediately gentles his tone. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

“S’fine,” Dean grunts.

It’s quite clearly  _ not _ fine.  _ He’s _ quite clearly  _ not fine. _ But Castiel can’t bring himself to argue.

Instead, Castiel holds his tongue and tiptoes to the window, pulling the blackout curtains shut as quietly as he could. There’s usually a sizable gap between the curtains — because they both have an appreciation for falling asleep to moonlight and waking up to sunlight — but right now, darkness would probably be the best bet.

The faint sunlight peeking out around the edges of the curtains and from the hallway outside is just barely enough to make out the simplest shadowy outlines of the largest things in their bedroom; it’s a good thing Castiel knows where everything is, knows well enough he could likely navigate the space fairly well in total darkness. Dean doesn’t appear to have moved at all, but Castiel could hear some of the strained quality seep out of his breathing. It’s a small victory.

“I will get you something for the pain,” Castiel says, low.  _ I’m leaving for a moment, but I’ll be back. _

Dean doesn’t deign to give him a response. Then again, Castiel hadn’t exactly been waiting for one.

Padding downstairs on bare feet, Castiel carefully shakes a single capsule of ibuprofen onto his palm, a bottle of water tucked in the bend of his elbow. When he returns, Dean’s no longer holding an arm over his face. Castiel nearly smiles — Dean might be the most stubborn and thickheaded person Castiel has ever known, but at least he does seem to realize when he has to put up with a little outside help.

He’s practically radiating waves of his disgruntlement like body heat, but Dean grudgingly allows Castiel to gently manhandle him upright against the pillows. Castiel knows Dean well enough to hand over the pill and open water bottle without any protesting, keeping a stern eye on him as Dean pops the Tylenol into his mouth and swallows it down with a few gulps of water.

As expected, Dean doesn’t utter a single word of gratitude. But he  _ does _ offer the water bottle back to Castiel instead of snatching the lid and attempting to set the bottle aside himself. It’s as close as Dean gets to accepting anyone taking care of him in any way, so Castiel accepts the modest offering for how precious it really is. He’s at once pleasantly surprised and terribly worried by Dean’s behaviour; on one hand, Dean could be doing it to show Castiel he’s genuinely fine, but on the other, Dean could be so  _ far _ from fine he has no choice but to let Castiel help.

Maybe Castiel should call off work for the day and stay home to watch over Dean. He’d be too distracted to work well, anyway.

“I’ll call in sick,” Castiel murmurs, only half to himself; the instant he moves to leave the room with his cellphone, a hand catches his wrist.

“Work.”

Castiel stumbles to an abrupt halt a single step from the bed. Dean’s grip isn’t strong enough to force him to stop, but as always, Castiel will let a single touch from Dean be enough. “Dean?”

“You…” Dean’s hand is a warm brand around Castiel’s wrist. “Go to work.”

“Dean—”

“Go,” Dean growls. “Don’t need you hoverin’, I know how to sleep.”

Castiel opens his mouth, properly intent on telling Dean exactly what he thinks about the statement. What he actually says is: “...Alright.”

“Good,” Dean grumbles, and doesn’t let go of Castiel. He drags the pad of his thumb in idle runs along the bone of Castiel’s wrist, up and down and  _ oh, _ there’s the faintest hint of his nail, pressing just enough to ease the slightly uncomfortable tickling sensation.

Castiel stands, rooted to the spot. Should he tell Dean he can’t go anywhere — much less to work — unless Dean releases his wrist? Whatever Dean’s doing, it’s not entirely unpleasant; Castiel decides to remain patient, and wait for Dean to let go.

Dean doesn’t.

Castiel continues waiting. Dean continues holding Castiel’s wrist hostage.

“Dean…”

“What.”

Castiel slowly pokes his tongue out to wet his lips. “I’m going to be late for work.”

Dean drops Castiel’s wrist so quickly, their knuckles knock together,  _ hard. _ Simultaneously, they inhale sharply, hissing exhales between gritted teeth.

Castiel doesn’t have much time. He hustles into the walk-in closet to put on his suit, tie dangling loose around his neck as he fumbles with his cuff buttons. The suit jacket is shrugged on as Castiel descends the stairs once more, his tie forgotten as he grabs a handful of chocolate chip granola bars from the snack cupboard and dumps two Tylenol capsules into a small bowl. Three more water bottles are bundled into his arms, then Castiel makes his way back upstairs.

He leaves the offerings on the bedside cabinet closest to the side of the bed Dean’s currently occupying. There. Calories, hydration, and medicine, all within arm’s reach. It should tide Dean over for most of the day while Castiel’s gone.

Without a word, Castiel leans over Dean, resting a hand against the side of his face. Dean exhales something just shy of a sigh and nuzzles into Castiel’s touch, his five o’clock shadow tickling Castiel’s palm.

Soft and lingering, Castiel bestows his farewell kiss to Dean’s forehead. He feels Dean’s eyelashes flutter when his eyes fall shut, and tries to memorize how warm Dean feels at the moment. Just in case. Neither of them have been ill for quite some time, but it’s definitely better to be safe than sorry.

When the time comes for Castiel to inevitably leave Dean behind — he does this every weekday, since he heads out for work earlier than Dean does, but there’s something so different when Dean is actually bedridden instead of grumbling into his morning coffee and breakfast in bed — he does so with a great deal of reluctance, trailing his fingers along the edge of Dean’s jaw forlornly before forcing himself to take a step back. Then another. And another.

It pains Castiel to be anywhere that’s not  _ at Dean’s side, where he should be, _ but he leaves the house anyway. There are a few granola bars stuffed in one trench coat pocket for his morning sustenance, phone and wallet and keys in other pockets; he triple checks to make sure the front door is properly locked, knotting his tie as he makes his way to his car.

It’s going to be a long day.

Castiel manages to make it to noon.

Well, noon is actually a solid half hour away, but who’s counting, right? He’s already spent too many hours away from Dean.

When Castiel returns home, he’s supporting the base of a thin plastic grocery bag with one arm, his other hand busy holding the bag handles shut so nothing escapes. It contains: multiple sports drinks (the ones with electrolytes, of course, and plenty of the blue ones, because Dean  _ insists _ they taste better), several cans of chicken broth (all from the brand Dean likes, because he can be strangely fussy about the taste of soup), a fresh package of oatmeal (perfect timing, they were running low), and two little boxes of blueberries (usually Castiel would only purchase one but they were on sale, and they’re wonderful in oatmeal anyway).

He’d gotten himself excused from work by citing a sudden onset of feeling unwell, sealing the deal by insisting he’ll finish the day’s work at home in bed. Charlie, a coworker and close friend, had gone a step further than anyone would ever expect, and convinced their boss to let Castiel get a free week’s worth of paid leave instead of using up his sick days. He really couldn’t thank her enough.

But that’s a situation for another day. Right now, he has to check on Dean, make sure he’s okay. Hopefully it really is just a headache.

Castiel leaves the bag on the kitchen counter and sets the blueberries in the fridge, filling one of his suit jacket pockets — he’d automatically shed his coat and shoes just inside the front door — with a package of unsalted crackers and the entire bottle of Tylenol. Dean’s already taken three if the ones Castiel left him are gone; he has to be careful with giving Dean any more. Collecting three of the drinks he’d bought, two blue and one orange, Castiel makes his way upstairs.

Dean’s asleep sprawled on his back, his face turned away from the sunlight brightening the hallway. Castiel’s almost relieved by how peaceful Dean appears to be, until he moves closer and notices how the comforter is tangled around Dean’s legs, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. Even asleep, his brow is pinched with discomfort, the fingers of one hand curling around the edge of the comforter.

Whatever happened to  _ just a headache? _

Slowly, cautiously, Castiel perches next to Dean, hoping the dip of the mattress would alert Dean to his presence without being too distressing. He glances at the bedside cabinet; all of the Tylenol he’d left is gone, the shallow bowl now occupied by three balled up granola bar wrappers. At least Dean had eaten something. Castiel’s replacing the empty water bottles on the bedside cabinet with the colourful electrolyte filled drinks in his arms when Dean stirs, shifting his weight restlessly. Freezing in place, Castiel hardly dares to breathe, but Dean settles quickly without acknowledging Castiel. He must be deeply asleep, then.

Exactly like a few hours earlier, Castiel cradles Dean’s cheek and bends down. This time, he rests his forehead against Dean’s — Dean hums a pleased little noise from deep within his chest, the sound not unlike a purr, and tips his head back to playfully bump their noses together. Castiel smiles, stroking his thumb along the curve of Dean’s cheekbone.

There’s no mistaking it: Dean is significantly warmer than the last time Castiel had checked. The difference isn’t  _ time for a trip to the hospital _ alarming, but it’s still enough to have concern coil into a dense ball and make itself a home in the pit of Castiel’s stomach. Dean’s already armed himself with water and calories; the only thing left for Castiel to do is—

Not go anywhere, apparently, because Dean has a hand on Castiel’s forearm, fingertips pressing down enough to say  _ don’t leave me. _ Castiel certainly hadn’t been planning to, but he really does need to grab his laptop first. There’s work he has to finish in exchange for the time he’s allowed to spend at home, by Dean’s side.

Castiel dislodges Dean’s hand as tenderly as he could, turning it over in his own to press a lingering kiss to the palm before lowering Dean’s hand to the bed like the most fragile of glass. Dean whimpers a quiet, desperate sound when Castiel steps away from the bed; Castiel nearly takes a tumble in his haste to step out of his dress pants and stagger over to the desk at the same time, tripping over his belt as he attempts to toe off his socks while he’s moving forward. Finally scooping up his laptop, he hurries back.

Dean wiggles back slightly to make room for Castiel, who gets himself situated between Dean and the bedside cabinet of supplies, fully intent on fetching everything so Dean wouldn’t have to stretch for them. The instant Castiel stops moving, Dean breathes a cut off whine and rolls right up against him, throwing an arm across Castiel’s lap under the comforter. All the tension bleeds out of Dean on his next exhale — even his brow relaxes, as if not having Castiel in close proximity was the only thing keeping Dean from using his body’s entire capacity of resources towards resting and recuperating.

Castiel absently straightens a crease in the comforter before turning on his laptop. He has work to do.

“...Cas?”

Humming a tuneless note in response, Castiel signs off the closing statement to his email, sending it off to Charlie. Work: completed. Finally.

Dean drags in an audibly deep inhale, curling his fingers into Castiel’s hip. “What’re you… Told you to go to work,” he says, voice thick with sleep.

Castiel hums again. “I did.”

Dean huffs, all perfectly resigned frustration. Castiel chuckles.

“Called you in sick, figured I’d take a week off too. Needed a break, anyway.”

“Hmm.”

It sounds an awful lot like  _ yeah, okay, now let me sleep, Cas, _ so Castiel sheds his suit jacket and dress shirt, dropping them carelessly to the floor. He’s more cautious when it comes to his laptop, cushioning it on his clothes with his blue tie on top.

Then, Castiel lies down, holding Dean close. Legs tangled together under the comforter, they sleep.


End file.
